


My Tongue Falls Silent

by ruric



Category: Actor RPF, Kane (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-22
Updated: 2006-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mid gig shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Tongue Falls Silent

Hot lights in his eyes and his shirttails are pulled loose covering the bulge in the front of his jeans.

“I need to pee.”

He grins at Chris’s glare and hands him the guitar. Ducking behind the curtain, shoulders press into brick and his eyes close. Hand pushed down the front of his jeans, adjusting himself to ease the brand of the zipper against his cock.

Skin prickling under a whisper of air, his eyes open to see Jerrod’s grin.

“Need some help?”

Reaching out to take the beer waved at him, he bats away Jerrod’s hands.

“Nope.” 

Jesus there is something fucked up in seeing a six foot redneck built like a barn faking a pout. 

“Shouldn’t you be hitting on the blondes out there who’ve been buying you drinks?”

Jerrod’s “Planning on that” is drowned by thunderous applause and Steve’s moving back on stage into the wall of heat.

Chris’s fingers slide over Steve’s skin, the guitar strap settles on his shoulder, resting on the spot where Chris’s teeth marked him earlier.

He can smell it around them, can taste the oestrogen on the air. Sweet and pleasant and warm, from girls young enough to be his daughter through women old enough to be his mother and most of them would willingly give it up for one night with them. 

Sometimes it’s enough, when Chris is filming and away for months, a warm body in his bed, laughter and love, and no promises to keep.

But it’s never enough on nights like this. 

Nights when the energy rolls off them, curling round them like a living thing; pulling them closer with each song, each chord, each note played and sung.

There’s a promise in blue eyes, a promise he sees every time they play together. 

Fire and hunger and a need so deep it could drown them both. Red cotton, the colour of old blood clings wetly to Chris’s skin, damp hair pressed to his face, sweat sliding from temples to collect in the hollow of his throat.

Steve’s mouth waters and he pulls the guitar closer, looks up when he hears his name, takes the offered shot glass and downs it in one. Anything to get him through, ‘til his tongue can follow the path from Chris’s temple down his cheek, feeling the scratch of stubble, breathing in the scent of musk, before he finds sweet saltiness in the hollow of his collarbone. 

A whispered “Later” in his ear followed by a whiskey soaked laugh is enough to turn his knees to water.

Fingers moving over the strings, sound swells around them and Steve lets his tongue slide over his lips real slow, holding Chris’s gaze just to see pupils flare and the fire ignite. 

Just a few more songs and the 3J’s - Jerrod, J and Jon - can keep people amused while he drags Chris into the private room out back waiting for them, sinks to his knees and wraps his lips around Chris’s dick.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote from Sappho:
> 
> “When I look on you a moment, then I can speak no more, but my tongue falls silent, and at once a delicate flame courses beneath my skin, and with my eyes I see nothing, and my ears hum, and a wet sweat bathes me, and a trembling seizes me all over.”


End file.
